We’ve all got a bit of split personality hidden somewhere inside, haven’t we? Different facets of our own nature come to the fore, given certain circumstances, or the mood that takes hold. At times I can be very compliant and at others, not quite.
We’re currently treating ourselves (more so Mary-Ann [the on-board cheffette extraordinaire] actually). Enjoying a fabulous evening meal at Aux Copains D’Abord in Garriguella. It’s a huge converted barn. Latin jazz and locally produced Gold Star winning red add a pleasant buzz.
Our fascination with Dali not yet done, so a visit to his sea-side house on today’s earlier agenda. With afternoon gales forecast, a bitter early start on Scoot takes us high up into the steep rocky mountains that overlook and hem in Cadaques and Portlligat. We’re well wrapped up. The grey smoke like clouds swirl around us like candyfloss curtains as we snake our way up; then form a solid sunscreen as we edge down. The misty air is cold, not quite nut cracking cold, but just enough to keep every pore clenched tight. It makes for a more enjoyable hot coffee and pastry at the water’s edge though.
We’re not surprised to be delighted with Dali’s home. Sense, silliness and extravagance abound in equal proportions.
With Dali done for the day we Scooted back up planning to drop down into Roses, a few further K down the coast. Not wanting the tricky terrain to get the better of us I’d planned an alternative route which according to the map would pass a view point. However, now useless in this mist. The wiggly way wound into a single narrow lane and passed a black and yellow sign clearly indicating we were entering some sort of restricted area. Quite what, was unclear. I slowed as Mary-Ann intimated she wanted to turn around. Black and yellow painted markers glaring at us from either side. Silently whispering “do you have permission?” That was all the incentive I needed and curiosity did the rest.
A few minutes later and in the middle of absolutely nowhere loom a pair of large black gates. The two on duty Spanish Squaddies stay calm as we approach. Immediately identifying us as non Al-Qaeda-like, their SMGs remain idly slung from their shoulders. “Is this not the way to Roses then?” I query . . .